Into the Light
by Queen Regent
Summary: Souls are Lights, and as such never truly go out; even in Blackness, they can never be torn from the hands that made them. Thus, on the night before Christmas, one certain soul is set alight again. But to be set alight, one must burn, and through the Flames, be made new. Come the Night and the Darkness, the Tarnished General will shine bright again. R & R Please!
1. Chapter 1

Snow fell softly over the town of Burgess, Michigan. No noise broke the calm except the occasional hooting of a night owl. The unusually bright full moon gazed upon all in peace. Suddenly, BOOM, the night sky shook! The jangle of bells, the cheerful 'whoop' of a young boy and hearty laughter shattered the silent night! Jack Frost flew ahead of North's sleigh, turning tricks and flinging snow flurries in every direction. Tonight was Christmas Eve, and as had been agreed so many months ago after his becoming a Guardian, Jack was helping North on his rounds tonight, keeping the weather clear and appropriately frosty.

"Jack, take the reins!" cried North, tossing the reins of his sleigh in Jack's direction. Jack caught them, pulling the reindeer back into a slow, low-flying glide over the rooftops as North leapt from sleigh-to-chimney and back again in an instant, delivering his special gifts to all the good children of the town—all of them, in fact. Every now and then Jack would smile when he saw a sign in a child's window sending Season's Greetings and addressed specifically to North and himself (one, the window of young Sophie Bennett, also sent her love to E. Aster Bunnymund). Over each of these—the windows of children who had been a part of their great battle with the Nightmare King some months ago—Jack made sure to cover with his favorite feathery frost. When he was done with his rounds tonight with North, he would also make sure their dreams of a winter wonderland in the morning came true.

Finally, North emerged from the very last house in town.

"Jack, my boy," he said with a sigh as he resumed his seat, "I think we've done it." Jack smiled excitedly.

"You mean we're done?" he asked. North stroked his beard as if in thought, murmuring to himself, gazing up at the moon in mock indecision. Then, smiling, he turned to Jack and nodded. However small a gesture he tried to make it, Jack recognized it as a definite 'yes.'

"Yeah!" he yelled as he leapt off the sleigh and into the wind, ready to whip up a white Christmas like none ever seen before!

"Haha! Go, Jack! Have fun, and Merry Christmas!" yelled North as he flew off, disappearing as quickly as he came through his snow globe portal. Jack laughed and got to work. Using every ounce of lift he could get from the wind he flew far over the town. Flipping and spinning he formed cloud after cloud of snow, and when finally ready, let them loose! Dropping down ahead of the coming snowstorm, alighting on trees, power lines and everything else, Jack covered the town in glistening white. Pipes froze (but not too hard), and the town's several hills were sufficiently snow-laden for hours of sledding and snowball fights tomorrow. Then flying low over a certain neighborhood, he left intricate snowflake drawings all over the windows of the children who believed in him—his own special Christmas greeting. When satisfied with his handiwork, he once more flew up over the town.

"Take me home!" he called out to the wind, which immediately whisked him away and over the woods to his favorite frozen pond. He smiled up at the moon as he flew over the snowy woods.

"Thanks again," he said to the Man in the Moon, "for helping me find my center." The gentle night breeze felt good against his skin, and he rolled over to watch the tress whizz by beneath him. Suddenly, a glimpse of something very _black_ against the white of the snow drew his attention. Curious, he drifted downwards to land on a tree branch. He could hear the thing's clumsy, uneven steps in the snow. Was it an injured deer perhaps? He dropped to the ground to investigate, and as the thing came nearer he could also hear ragged, gasping breaths—not those of a deer. Now very concerned, he started towards the thing, but when he finally saw what it was he froze, and Jack Frost's blood _turned ice cold_.


	2. Chapter 2

_...Now very concerned, he started towards the thing, but when he finally saw what it was he froze, and Jack Frost's blood __**turned ice cold.**_

Pitch Black staggered a few more steps towards Jack. One dragging foot caught on an exposed root and he stumbled, just catching himself on the trunk of a tree. Jack raised his staff, ready for any trick the Nightmare King might play. Pitch attempted to pull himself up but failed and crumpled in the snow, eyes closed, his breath coming out in shivering gasps. Jack took this as a chance to get closer and noticed the sorry state of Pitch's clothes; one shoulder was ripped at the seam, the hem was torn and ragged, large tears split the front from the collar to his waist. Jack realized his skin seemed darker in places than it was normally and a dried, black substance caked nearly one half of his face, staining other places where his skin was less exposed. Jack grimaced at the sight and lowered his staff. There was no threat here. He kneeled next to Pitch and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He made no immediate reaction, and for a moment Jack wondered if he'd stopped breathing.

"What happened to you?" he thought aloud. At the sound of his voice Pitch's eyes suddenly shot open! He yelped and cowered against the tree. Fearful eyes stared at him like a wounded animal waiting to be ripped apart. Jack immediately backed off.

"It's alright! Pitch, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you," he said, wondering to himself why exactly that was. Slowly he reached out a hand to Pitch who had not seemed to understand a word he'd said as he attempted to wriggle away. Just before Jack could touch him though, he fainted, seemingly exhausted even beyond what his adrenaline could do for him. Jack rested his hand on Pitch's shoulder and gently shook him to see if he would wake, but he didn't. Jack frowned, wondering what to do with him. His hand slipped into his pocket and gripped the miniature snow globe he found there, a gift from North in case of an emergency.

"Oh, no," Jack said to himself, "North would have a fit if I brought _you_ to the North Pole." But then, something in his gut told Jack that North, the one who had believed in him when he didn't think he had what it took to be a guardian, would never turn even his enemy away if he needed help. He was too—_caring_. Decided, Jack took the snow globe from his pocket and whispered 'the North Pole' into it. He threw it just a few feet away where it burst and turned into a portal straight to the Pole's control center. Then, sticking his staff down the back of his hoodie for safekeeping, he hooked both hands under Pitch's shoulders and dragged him to the portal, surprised at how _very_ light he was. The next moment they were gone in a flash.

If asked, Jack will tell you that teleporting is something like being put through the 'spin' cycle of a washing machine until one finally is spit out to land at one's destination. Thus Jack appeared at the North Pole rather dizzy, accidentally dropping Pitch as he tried to keep his balance. Pitch, still unconscious, did not seem to mind. It seemed to Jack that it had quite suddenly become quiet and he realized as his head cleared that he was standing amidst the Christmas 'finishing party' the yetis held at the end of each Christmas Eve. Every pair of eyes watched him and Pitch in tense curiosity.

"What happened to party? Where is music? What is everyone staring at?" North demanded as he broke through the wall of yetis to where Jack stood. Seeing Jack, he opened his mouth to greet him, but upon noticing the black figure lying in a heap behind him his eyebrows rose, his jaw tensed and he turned demandingly to the frost spirit.

"Jack," he said quietly, "_what_ is going on? What happened, and why is _he _here?" Jack coughed nervously.

"I, uh, well, I found him in the woods outside of Burgess. He's hurt pretty badly, North. I thought you might be able to do something for him." North frowned, scanning Jack's face for the truth and after a moment or two seemed satisfied.

"Everyone, clear out!" he ordered, "and someone prepare two rooms!" He knelt next to Pitch, carefully repositioning him flat on his back so he could assess the damage. Turning his face, he tried to see the source of the dried blood.

"Will need to be cleaned—possibly stitched," he noted to himself. Next he felt his left shoulder, then his right. "Dislocated." He felt the bones of each arm. "Right wrist was broken, but healed." He felt each rib, and frowned deeply. "Nearly _all_ of his ribs are broken," he said.

"Is that very bad?" asked Jack. North turned to him.

"He _should_ be screaming in pain when I touch them." Jack fell silent.

"Was he walking when you found him, Jack?" asked North.

"Yes—but kind of stumbling." He carefully felt each foot, and nodded to himself when he found no damage. His left leg he found to be broken in no less than two places, and most of his skin was darkened with bruises (Jack noticed they were hoof-shaped), or dried over with blood from gashes and small cuts. Lastly, North felt at his neck for his pulse and frowned again.

"Pulse is too light, you were right to bring him here, Jack. He surely would not have made it. But, he is breathing—if lightly—so there is a chance for him yet." he declared. He barked an order out in Russian and momentarily two yetis arrived bearing a stretcher and blankets. With the yetis' help, North gently shifted Pitch onto the stretcher and laid the blankets over his still form.

"Come, Jack," said North as they bore him along. "I may need your help a little." They took him to a small room in what Jack assumed was the residential wing of North's workshop. The long hallway, warmly lit and plushly carpeted, led to many more doors with small brass numbers on them—oddly, thought jack, for North could hardly be able to entertain much. They entered into door number six and Pitch was laid carefully down on the bed. A Yeti standing in the corner approached and set a leather bundle out on the sheets next to North. From the old medical kit North selected a long, bent pair of scissors and cut what was left of Pitch's robe away. Jack hissed looking over North's shoulder at the damage. It seemed not one square inch of Pitch's body was left unscathed.

"We should fix that leg first." said North, standing. He went to the foot of the bed and muttered an order to a yeti who left the room and reappeared with materials Jack assumed would be used to splint Pitch's leg and a small wooden box decorated with silver, the purpose of which Jack could only guess. From the box, which the yeti held respectfully out to North, he withdrew a magnifying glass, but one quite unlike any Jack had ever seen before. Dozens of attachments and different colored lenses sprouted from the long knobby handle, a few of which North aligned with the primary glass and proceeded to sweep back and forth over Pitch's leg. A black and white picture appeared through the multiple lenses.

"It's an x-ray glass!" exclaimed Jack. North chuckled.

"Something I made for my younger days. It has come in quite handy since then, though. Ah, good." He put down the glass and took the supplies from the waiting yeti. "The breaks are hairline, nothing serious enough to need surgery. He'll be walking again in no time."

"That's good." said Jack.

"I should think so," remarked North, "especially if he was trying to get someplace as you told me, Jack. Any further and the breaks might have worsened. He owes you a great deal." An odd look passed over Jack's features and he glanced up towards the Nightmare King's face. What North said didn't quite make him feel noble like he thought it should, but more awkward and slightly repulsed by the possibility of being so familiarly linked to the Boogeyman. They were _not_ close, or similar in any way, and any more entanglement than was necessary, Jack wished to avoid at all costs.

"Now comes the part where I will need your help, Jack." said North, breaking him from his thoughts. A large steaming bowl of water and piles of bandages were laid out by the head of the bed. "I will clean his wounds, and then you must cool them so as to prevent infection, but first, I'm going to teach you how to tend to broken ribs. I found it to be a very necessary skill in my youth. You will perhaps agree with me someday." Jack raised an eyebrow, wondering how wild of a life North actually had, but he did as he was told. The water in the bowl quickly turned dark red and North soon had to call for another. They had gone through a bowl and a half of water and rags before Pitch's wounds were clean enough for Jack to freeze. As he did, Pitch shivered and tossed his head. It seemed like he was about to wake up.

"North, I think he's coming to." As he looked Pitch seemed to mutter something under his breath that Jack couldn't quite catch. North reached up and raised one of his eyelids. Jack jumped back in disgust when he saw nothing but white.

"Wow, that's creepy. Is he dead?"

"No, that just means he's in REM sleep. He's probably dreaming, or, more likely, having a nightmare. Come, let's finish so we can let him rest." Gently North held his body up while Jack wrapped bandages around Pitch's broken ribs. "Gently." said North when Jack pulled a little too hard. "The ribs will heal on their own, but you mustn't wrap them too tight." Finally they finished and Jack smirked at how Pitch looked. Covered in bandages, he very much resembled a t.p. mummy, like the ones he sometimes saw kids dressed up as for Halloween.

"Very good job, Jack." North placed a hand on his shoulder as he surveyed their work. "Now off to bed with you. There's a room next door where you can sleep for tonight." Jack smiled brilliantly up at North.

"Really?" he asked. North smiled back.

"Of course, you will always have a home here whenever you need it. Goodnight Jack." Then without warning the frost spirit gripped North around his middle and hugged him tight. Surprised at first, North happily returned the embrace. No more would Jack feel alone or forgotten, not if he had anything to say about it.

"Goodnight, North." he said quietly, just a little afraid to say it louder for fear of his voice cracking. Then he went, smiling and happy, off to bed. North watched him go and closed the door behind him. In the bed, Pitch tossed and turned. North lit a candle and set it close on the nightstand so that the light fell over Pitch's face. He went to the windows and examined their seams. There were no cracks in the glass and he felt no drafts as he stood in the room. He stoked the fireplace and made sure it stayed strong; then finally satisfied he made to leave, tapping the door handle thrice as he did so. Unconscious or no, the King of Nightmares was still at the Pole, and Nicholas St. North would leave no escape route open for him.


	3. Chapter 3

…_Unconscious or no, the King of Nightmares was still at the Pole, and Nicholas St. North would leave no escape route open for him…_

Pitch did not wake in the morning, and surmising that he probably wouldn't for quite a while, North and Jack waited together. After becoming a guardian, North had of course shown Jack around the workshop and now that he didn't have to "bust in" anymore he was free to explore and do as he pleased. His favorite pastime by far, was watching North work. Whenever he wasn't teasing the elves or baiting the yetis, he loved to sit in North's private workshop and watch in wide-eyed wonder as he made fantastic inventions and toys come to life. Sometimes he even contributed a few ideas of his own and together he and North had developed a comfortable friendship, closer than any he'd had since before he became Jack Frost. (Secretly, Jack had never known, or didn't remember his father and felt as much love for the Guardian of Wonder as he thought he would have had for his real father.)

"Oh, that'll never work, North."

"What do you mean?! I have done this thousand times, gone perfectly well before you came along!" retorted North with good-natured indignation. The ice toy they were working on sat on the desk half-finished but the one block of ice they needed to get off of it was tricky and where Jack insisted that they needed smaller tools, North defended his experience with the hammer and chisel. What would a boy who put ice together into blocks know of splitting it apart?

"I know how to settle this!" declared North. "In my room I have model that looks very similar to this. We can go look at that and then decide who's right." Jack agreed and they headed off to North's suite. "Oh, wait a moment. I must check in on Pitch." he said as they passed by his room. North tapped the handle thrice and flung the door wide. Pitch laid much the same as the night before; he frowned and tossed and turned in his sleep. North went to the other side of the room and retrieved a burned down stump of a candle from the nightstand then turned to the bed and pressed two fingers to Pitch's neck. He seemed pleased. "Pulse is stronger than last night. That is good sign. So, what say we go see who…" North never finished his sentence for at the exact moment he pulled his hand away, Pitch shot up in bed gasping wildly like a man nearly drowned. He gave a great groan and clutched at his ribs as the pain from his injuries hit his now-conscious brain. North raised his hands up and tried to coax him back down.

"It's alright, Pitch. The nightmare is over. Lay back and rest now." But rather than relax, North's voice, and especially when he touched Pitch's shoulders seemed to have the opposite effect on the Nightmare King. His muscles went rigid and he stared at North with the same look of fear that he had given Jack the night before. North knew that look, having seen it so often when he'd hunted as a young man. Slowly he retracted his hands and backed away from the bed, keeping his voice low and even as he tried to appear as non-threatening as possible.

"It's alright Pitch. I'm not going to hurt you. Neither is he." He signaled for Jack to back off a little as Pitch glanced nervously about the room. His gaze lingered on Jack as North kept talking, soothing and assuring him that there was nothing to fear. "Look around you." he said, sweeping his arm low across the room, "You are safe. Jack brought you here so that we could help you." Pitch looked strangely at Jack and, seeming to have decided something, turned slowly away from him back to North; he could trust him enough to not need to keep an eye on him. "You are _safe_, Pitch. You are safe here." said North, inching nearer. Ever so slowly the tension in Pitch's muscles dissipated and with a long sigh he released a pent-up breath and lay back down, lids heavy and eyes dim. "Let's check those injuries, shall we?" North pulled back the covers and gingerly felt over the bandages covering Pitch's abdomen. He grimaced when North came to a particularly sensitive spot. "Sorry." North apologized. "Is better than last night though when you were too out of it to notice." he joked. He replaced the pillow propping up Pitch's leg that had shifted when he woke and made to leave. "Get some rest, Pitch. I'll come back in little while." He began to close the door when for the first time Pitch spoke, raspy unused voice forming only one word:

"Why?" His eyes were trained on Jack who shrugged, not quite sure of the reason himself.

"I'm a guardian," he said finally. "It's what I do, I guess." Pitch looked away as if ashamed.

"Thank you." he said quietly. Jack nodded and allowed North to usher him out, stealing one last glance at the Nightmare King before the door closed.

North tapped the handle thrice and turned to Jack who stared at the carpet in thought. They stood in silence for several seconds before Jack looked up, feeling North watching him. The thoughts he almost read in his eyes vanished when he asked about the other guardians.

"When are we going to call them?"

"Not yet." replied North, who turned and walked down the hallway back to his shop.

"But, shouldn't they be aware that _Pitch Black_ is at the Pole? North, they'll want an explanation as to why I even rescued him. It wouldn't make it any better for them to know that we kept this secret from them."

"Exactly, Jack. They will want an explanation that only _he _will be able to give, and he is in no condition to do so."

"But he's just…" North stopped suddenly nearly causing Jack to careen right into his back. He turned around, pulling himself up to his full height and in that moment Jack realized how intimidating North could be. He felt sorry for anyone that had ever faced him in battle.

"_Animals_," he began with pointed emphasis on the word, "that fear being beaten look at people like Pitch looked at us. Whatever happened to him since he was defeated was bad enough that even he is not above showing terror. We _will_ call the others and he _will_ be made to explain what has happened to him, just not yet; when he's ready, then we will summon them." Jack frowned after North, striding away with finality and effectively ending the conversation. It didn't make sense to Jack why they should wait for Pitch Black for any reason whatsoever. He was their enemy, and he certainly hadn't _waited_ for anyone when he'd killed Sandy. What he had done didn't deserve sympathy or redemption, and deep inside of Jack's usually forgiving heart, it had planted a seed of bitterness that had only just now begun to grow.

Days later, North was taking a steaming tray of lunch to the resident patient. Until now he had slept nearly incessantly and only woken from his more violent nightmares. If North had to guess, he assumed that the almost-too-lean Nightmare King hardly ever ate: a crying shame, for sure. It was probably the reason why he was always so hostile whenever they interacted; an empty stomach usually accompanied an empty heart, in North's opinion. Balancing the tray in one hand, he tapped the handle on the door thrice as usual and customarily flung the door open, only to find no one in the room!

"_Blast it!_" thought North. A quick look about the room—North even checked under the bed—revealed nothing, but the candle was gone from the nightstand and so were the crutches North had made for him. That slightly improved things. He couldn't have gotten very far at all. Striding out the door, North ordered the yetis whom he passed by to search for Pitch, while he followed a hunch to the library. He remembered all too vividly the episode of their history when Pitch was obsessed with the library of his mentor, the wizard Ombric Shalazar. His books, full of magic and secret things, held power that the Nightmare King coveted violently. The pieces of this latest ruse to get at North's own accumulation of knowledge fell into place as he went along, and North hoped he would find him so he could wallop him into a state worse than how he found him and send him back to the hole where he belonged. He scowled, finding the library door slightly ajar and pulled a decorative saber off the wall as he entered. Books lined mahogany shelves from floor to ceiling and clusters of cushioned chairs and couches formed comfortable reading areas to while away the hours in. As far as North could see, nothing was missing or damaged, but in the farthest corner of the room on a low table sat a burned-down candle, and leaning against the chair next to it, a tall set of crutches. North approached slowly and when he was just behind the tall back of the chair, hooked the sharp edge of the saber under the throat of the occupant. A startled gasp followed and he maneuvered around, saber held in its place, until he loomed ominously over the Nightmare King.

"So _this_ was your aim. _This_ was why you wanted to come here!" North was nearly growling. Betrayal of trust was rather high on the list of things which he despised, and now he was livid. "_Pitch_," he pressed the saber tighter against his neck, causing him to flinch and attempt to shrink away as much as the cushioned wingback chair would allow. "What have you been doing? What's _this_?" A book sat pages-down on Pitch's lap and he laid his hands over it as if to hide the title but North seized it from his grasp and opened it to see what exactly the Nightmare King was up to. It wasn't what he expected, to say the least. The page to which the book had been opened contained instructions for a spell to create one's own private light source. North flipped the book to see the title: _Guaranteed Banishing Techniques: for Darkling and Other Hostile Threats, by Ombric Shalazar_ _M.W. _North arched an eyebrow and stared almost incredulously at Pitch. A thought nagged him in the back of his mind and he pressed the saber more insistently into Pitch's neck. But he didn't fight, didn't look up defiantly as he should have at North. In all honesty, he was absolutely haggard, barely keeping his eyes open even with the threat of a sword about to slice his throat open. Something clinched in North's mind and he unceremoniously threw the sword down onto the table where it landed with a ringing clatter. Pitch jumped in surprise and finally looked at North, confused and somewhat suspicious. North leaned down until they were face to face.

"You're trying to banish nightmares." said North, more a statement than an inquiry. After a moment's hesitation Pitch shook his head in the affirmative, lowering his gaze to avoid North's piercing stare. He need not get any farther than that. Inevitably though, he asked, "What happened to you?" Pitch met his gaze finally.

"_Please_," he begged, "please don't send me back in the dark." North knit his brows.

"Answer me, Pitch." he demanded.

"Why would you care?" he shot back lamely. There was the Pitch North knew.

"What happens to you affects what you do to us, and more important, the children of the world."

"I'm no threat to you, or the children." He frowned resentfully at something and added, "I don't want to be." North arched a brow and lowered himself into the chair across from Pitch.

"Oh? When did this happen? Perhaps we should have set nightmares on you sooner." he said with a smirk. Pitch winced slightly, obviously not sharing in North's humor.

"For about nine months it's been happening." he replied morosely, but then he softened his voice and looked down at his hands. "Let's just say, I don't prefer to hide in the shadows anymore." A dark shade passed over his features then. The light from the high windows spilled into the library and fell liberally over everything therein, but a bubble, a haze of darkness seemed to hang around Pitch. It smothered him, compressed him, hunched over in the chair as he was. As much as he supposedly ruled it, it imprisoned him, and North saw at last the weight of the chains over his shoulders, looped around his limbs, and weighted down by the condensed centuries of his time in it. The Guardian in him thought about how easy it might be to reach into the fog and pull Pitch out, make a new spirit out of him. The warrior in him needed to know whether that was not foolish. North cocked his head at Pitch and asked,

"What is it that you want, Pitch?" He tiredly leaned his head against the back of the chair and stared at North. Many thoughts passed through his eyes, and in each and every one of them North saw a hint of desperation that his self-discipline would never allow him to articulate out loud. He smiled wanly and answered,

"A good nights' sleep, if that's not too much to ask." He glanced at the book North still held. North looked down at it. Of all the things to ask, that was one thing which the Nightmare King never would. He looked back up at Pitch, a small smile tweaking the corners of his moustache.

"You are tired," he said, "let's get you to bed." And he helped him back to his room. North recited the appropriate spell from Ombric's book and a soft glow settled about and into the corners of the room. It had no source but congregated around the two men, covering Pitch like an extra blanket. That night he slept a blissful, dreamless sleep, armored, as it were, in light.


	4. Chapter 4

…_That night he slept a blissful, dreamless sleep, armored, as it were, in light…_

Spirits heal quickly, and in not a long time Pitch did just that. A week later most of his lesser scratches and even a few of his ribs had healed. Two weeks later, they were completely healed, and he could walk distances without his crutches. Then, a few days later, he was able to place his feet upon the freezing floor again without any pain. The year had turned and now it was close to February. With it still being winter, Jack did his best to stay away from the Pole (and Pitch) as much as possible, but today was different. Today was Judgment Day for Pitch. As a guardian it was obligatory that he be present.

The defendant preferred to stand before the semi-circle of mostly glaring guardians. He kept silent, eyes trained on a spot of floor near the middle of where everyone was stationed. Now was not the time for any sort of arrogance on his part, although a very small, resentful part of him wanted to march up and punch Bunnymund in the gut for the dirty look he was giving him. Characteristically, he was the first one to dive into the offensive against the accused.

"So, alright then, are we gonna learn why we were all dragged here to listen to your excuses, or what?" He crossed his arms over his chest and his whiskers twitched in agitation. Pitch raised his head but found he could not manage to look each and every one of them in the eye (especially Sandy).

"I have none," he said with his eyes down again.

"Then what _do_ you have to say?" asked Jack. He leaned forward on his staff and eyed Pitch in grim dislike. Finally, the question he knew how to answer. He took in a practiced breath.

"Since our last—_incident _—I've decided I don't want to be what I was anymore. I won't be confined to the shadows. I won't be the _Nightmare King _any longer." He spat out his former title like a curse. "I understand I don't deserve your trust or forgiveness," he raised his eyes and met Bunny's hard glare. "I just need your cooperation while I figure out what to do." A span of silence followed his statement. Brows rose skeptically as they looked from one to the other in silent council. Bunny and Jack of course gave off the most distrust, while the others, except North, seemed to be struggling with their duties as guardians and their own personal dislike for Pitch. They—Tooth and Sandy—had _very_ good reasons to hate him, but it also didn't seem right to seek their own vengeance before justice. Finally, Bunny became tired of the indecision. He chuckled scornfully, turning to face Pitch. Then he began to laugh outright so that he sounded almost mad. They could all hear the bitterness in it though. Much as he had thought Jack's actions had threatened all he held dear last Easter, he was reacting similarly to Pitch now, though with far more deep-rooted loathing than hurt from supposedly betrayed trust.

"Oh, well, I think we've heard enough now," he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "You," he drew a boomerang and leveled it at Pitch, "are gonna go _back_ under the rock ya came from. Ya don't want sympathy or forgiveness, then good, we're not gonna _give_ it. I'm gonna put you back so far down in your hole you won't ever be able to crawl back out again, because things like _you_ weren't _meant_ to be believed in!"

"Bunny!" North hissed. He stopped, having advanced several paces towards Pitch, but did not lower his boomerang. He trembled in his rage. Pitch met Bunny's hateful gaze with surprising calm. Bunny's words had obviously hit a sensitive nerve; too sensitive to risk exposing through an argument. Something in the way his eyes glimmered, how his shoulders slumped ever so slightly and how his hands unfolded limply against the black tunic he wore, suggested an awareness, a resignation, even, to what he saw as the truth of Bunny's words. North decided it was time to get in the middle of this and stepped in between Pitch and the still-fuming pooka. "Listen, everyone," he said, standing beside Pitch. "Pitch no longer wants to be our enemy. I believe him." Their incredulous exclamations, and sand play from Sandy, shot forth at this, but he quieted them with a wave of his hand. "Let me finish! _I_ have seen change in him and I believe he means what he says, but, as you may imagine, the question arises as to what he will do. I have idea." His eyes lit up and he smiled as he had when he'd suggested that they help collect Tooth's teeth. "He will spend one day with each of us in cycle, learning what we do. Then perhaps, we can help him find new purpose, something helpful to all of us." He smiled at his own genius plan. It was not as well received as he would have liked.

"That's a ridiculous plan! What'll he do with me? My kids can't even see him!"

"I'm not letting that villain anywhere near my fairies!"

"He'd sabotage my entire operations! I'd rather cut off my ears and be a _human_ for a month than let 'im into the Warren!" Sandy, by way of protest, frowned and formed many emphatic 'NO' symbols over his head. Even Pitch eyed North skeptically. North looked at them all as if disappointed and then focused on Jack.

"We are guardians. It's what we do, no?" Jack tried not to react, but North's stare was just _so piercing_.

"Fine! Whatever! I'll go first with him, and get it over with." He shook his arms out, tossed his head and muttered darkly to himself. North beamed.

"Then it is settled! Pitch, tomorrow you go with Jack. Then day after that stay here with me. Tooth, that way I can assure you he will be safe to go with you next day, and Bunny, you will be able to trust Tooth's word, right?" He rolled his eyes. He had no choice now. "Then finally, Sandy, after going through all of us, he will work one night with you. Very good? Everyone agreed? Wonderful!" And with that, it was law.

Day 1: Not Quite so Much **Fun** as He Would Have Liked

The next day began beautifully. The morning was bright and clear; a crisp, cloudless winter sky cheerfully greeted Jack as he woke. It was perfect conditions for flying. It made Jack sick. To think that he would have to spend the day babysitting the person he thought he most loathed in the entire world while he should be having carefree fun with his friends was just a disgusting thought. He rushed to the pole and dropped unhappily through the globe room window. To his chagrin, North and Pitch were already there waiting for him.

"Alright, let's get this over with. Uh, North, have you considered how I'm gonna get him there, you know, since he can't fly?" He leaned on his staff and tried to appear every inch the frustrating, sarcastic teen. If he wouldn't be able to enjoy himself today, neither would Pitch. It was truly a grim reckoning for the poor spirit.

"You will take snow globe," North said simply, unaffected by Jack's bad attitude. North tossed two to him and he caught them with a frown.

"North, come on. What do you expect me to do with him? I mean, my kids can't even see him."

"Don't worry. I've got something to do," Pitch said, and held up a sketchpad and box of pencils. Jack huffed and bowed his head in defeat.

"Alright, come on," he said to Pitch and burst the snow globe at his feet. As they walked through it, he could have sworn he heard North call 'good luck,' but whether to him or to Pitch he didn't know. They reappeared in a snowy morning wood, where, Pitch did not know, but followed after Jack as he trudged away.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he caught up to him. Jack turned suddenly and shook his finger at him.

"Ah-buh-buh! It's time we set up some ground rules. Number one! For the remainder of the day you will be silent. Is that clear?" Pitch nodded, slid his fingers over his mouth and raised his hands. "Good. Number two: you try anything and I'll freeze you solid and then drop-kick you all the way to Antarctica. Number three," Jack narrowed his eyes and pointed his staff at the former Nightmare King. "If you even _try_ to run away while I'm not looking, you'll wish I never found you that night. Well, come on, then. Don't want to keep the kids waiting." He smiled and skipped away, leaving Pitch to stare after him in what he could only equate to mild terror. The boy was secretly a sadist, he was sure. Eventually they emerged from the trees into a suburb. Pitch hadn't quite recognized where they were yet, when without warning Jack seized him by his collar and yanked him up into the sky—surely in an attempt to break his neck by "accident"—where they flew erratically over the town until Pitch was dropped most unceremoniously onto a rooftop.

"Stay here," said Jack, and he took to the sky again. Pitch was left to sit on a box, watching Jack Frost at his trade. Jack flew high over the town, so high that Pitch had to squint to see him, spinning and flipping over and over himself, until finally he dropped in free fall back towards the ground. He screamed pure joy as he torpedoed towards the asphalt. Pitch watched with a small smile, but it faded as Jack fell below the level of the rooftops. His thoughts slurred together in panic.

"_Oh no, he's going to diehe'llbecrushedoh,noOh,noOH,NO!SWEETCELESTIALS!"_ He hit the deck as Jack flipped out of his fall and rushed, racing on the wind over where he used to stand. Jack laughed back at Pitch's scowl.

"Snow Day!" he cried. He spun back on the wind to the rooftop, where, just as roughly as before, he snatched Pitch into the air again and flew back to the outskirts of town. Jack dumped him into a snow bank and he struggled, spitting snow and fumbling back to his feet.

"You could at least _warn_ me when you're about to..." he paused when he looked about him. Finally, he recognized where they were. It was the same lake on which he'd met his end last Easter. They were in Burgess. Jack's "kids" whom he'd mentioned were the same ones who'd helped to foil his attempt for power. They were also very near his former lair. Jack watched Pitch as he recognized where they were. He stared silently around and then looked nervously over his shoulder: in the direction the nightmares had dragged him after their last battle. Pitch promptly took up his sketchbook and pencils and strode over to the opposite side of the frozen pond, taking a seat in direct sunlight, away from the shadows of the trees. He made no comment to Jack, but that was alright with him.

"Jack, Jack!" The excited voices of children rang out as they hurried towards the pond. Pitch recognized the first boy to appear, Jamie, he thought his name was. He and the others rushed happily to greet Jack Frost. They crowded around him and he greeted them in return, knowing every one of their names. Their numbers had grown, Pitch noticed, and they began to take up most of the surface of the pond. But none of them looked his way; no matter how close they may have come to his spot on the bank, they couldn't see him. Pitch flipped open his sketchbook and got to work. He would at least be able to focus without interruption, or so he thought. They played heartily, first at a game of ice hockey—Pitch was forced to dodge the puck twice—then they skated; Jack tried to teach them tricks, but the ones who were daring enough had some difficulty kicking and spinning in bare feet. It didn't last very long, but a well-aimed snowball soon brought the fun back and everyone engaged in an epic free-for-all. They ran up onto the bank and Pitch retreated to the high ledge overlooking the pond. Unfortunately, he still managed to be knocked on his arse by more than one expertly-thrown snowball.

"_If there weren't children here, Frost," _he thought darkly, shaking the snow from his hair. It was eventually Noon, and the children began to trickle away back to their warm houses for lunch, leaving Jack and Pitch alone. Jack smiled and waved after his friends as they left, promising he'd be there when they came back. Finally, he turned around and flew to the ledge where Pitch sat still hard at work on whatever it was he was doing. He plopped down next to Pitch on the snow and tried to see what he was so focused on. Pitch glanced sideways at him and scooted away. Jack grinned and scooted closer.

"What in the world's _that_?" he asked over Pitch's shoulder. What he was able to see looked like a bunch of interlocking circles in a row. He scowled and abruptly stood up, tramping back down the hill. Jack followed. "Have you been working all morning on that? Don't get me wrong, but even I can draw a _circle_ in less time than a whole morning." Pitch rolled his eyes and sat back down in his original place, now among the remains of snow angels and children's bootprints. He reached for a pencil when his sketchpad was snatched from his lap by the wind and flown clear across the pond. Pitch jumped up and raced to grab it, but Jack was faster, gliding past him to catch it before it hit the ground. He flicked through it then jumped away before Pitch could grab him.

"Give it back, Frost," ordered Pitch, and he swiped at Jack again in vain.

"Tell me what they are," said Jack over his head. Pitch jumped for his legs but missed and Jack glided away to land on a tree branch. He laughed as Pitch skidded, nearly losing his balance on the ice as he rushed over.

"They're important. Give them back!"

"Why would circles be important?" asked Jack with a grin. Out of Pitch's reach, he thumbed leisurely through the drawings, most of which were as incomplete as the circles, but others seemed to have more solid bases; one looked like a person's silhouette, another somewhat resembled the hilt of a sword, sort of. But Pitch was at the base of the tree then. He grabbed onto a lower limb and pulled himself up. Just as he was about to reach out for Jack, he jumped away and slid to the other side of the pond. Pitch yelled in frustration and raced angrily towards the frost spirit. As he reached the center of the pond, a blast of freezing wind knocked him down onto the ice. Stunned for a second, he glared at Jack and tried to get back up, but another gust kept him down. Several more times he tried to stand and each time Jack blew him down again until finally he stayed put, staring breathless up at the frost spirit.

"You're really not going to give them back until I tell you, are you?"

"Nope," Jack said, shaking his head. Pitch huffed in defeat.

"Fine, then! If you _must _know, they're memories. Every night since I was dragged down that hole I would dream about things like that, but they went deeper than dreams. They don't look like much yet; it wasn't until now that I even remembered having a past." A wistful look came over his features as he called the images forth. "They weren't anything like I would have expected; warm and bright, and I felt cared about. But then," his features darkened again, "_every single time_ they would grow dim, and it was _always_ my fault. Bunny was right about me. But I wasn't always…_this_." He gestured at himself with distaste then pointed at the drawings in Jack's hand. "If I can figure out what all those mean, or even figure out who I was, maybe, maybe I could become someone more useful. There's enough fear in the world without my help, trust me, so, maybe," the hope suddenly disappeared and his eyes hardened as he turned back to Jack. "Look, I've told you what they are. Now give them back." He held out his hand for the pad, but Jack did not immediately return them. As he'd listened, Jack's eyes had grown wide with the revelation: he was just like him. But all of a sudden that didn't feel like such a bad thing. Like he'd said, maybe he could get a second chance. Jack flipped the pad open and turned to the page with the interlocking circles. He turned the picture this way and that, when suddenly, he saw it. Grinning, he raced past Pitch back to the other side of the pond.

"Vous petit pièce de...!" screamed Pitch, and chased after him. Jack grabbed a pencil and hastily drew four lines. He held it up as Pitch came near.

"What does that look like to you?" he asked as Pitch nearly crashed into the picture. He stared at it a moment then his eyes lit up in realization.

"It's a telescope!" he exclaimed and smiled. "I think that's right!" He took the pad from Jack and they sat back down together. "Now, here, this one; what do you think that one might be?" The rest of lunch time was spent theorizing over the pictures; sometimes logically, other times not so much. When the children returned, Pitch interacted just a little bit more than he did before, mainly taunting Jack and alerting him whenever someone was about to be hurt. Finally, at the end of the day, he found himself reluctant to return to the Pole.

"Next time, I'm gonna teach you how to have a snowball fight, I swear," said Jack as he came to Pitch's side. Pitch smiled at the thought.

"You know, I think I might like that," he said. And they walked through the portal back to the Pole, both finding they had indeed had a bit more fun than they'd expected…together.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Hello at last, my lovely readers! First order of business: "Vous petit pièce de…" is French for "You little piece of…" I'll just let you finish that phrase. Second order of business: Tell me how I'm doing! One of the main concerns I have with this piece is that somewhere along the line I will misrepresent the characters I am trying to portray. If ever you read something that you can't imagine hearing the characters say please, alert me at once! Thank you all so very much for all the support you have given me by reading this, but I'd like to hear from you, so R & R as much as you can! Be thankin' ye all kindly,

-QR

P.S. I'm going to faithfully start opening every chapter from now on. The last time, Pitch and Jack hit a breakthrough in their relationship. Now, let's see whether North can reopen Pitch's eyes to Wonder, shall we?

Day 2: _Icarus Rises_ or _Let all Creation sing in __**Wonder**_

_Stars sang. Planets danced. This he saw as he floated, weightless, a silent observer of their great waltz. Harmonies and beats of sound mingled to guide every galaxy, world, and even every living heart as they moved about under the direction of that which was at the Center of it all. Quietly, he began to sway along, until someone he knew; someone he loved took his hand and guided him into the midst of the dancers. They spun and dove and twirled about one another, destined to orbit inexorably around each other's hearts. But then the universe collapsed. The dance fell apart as the Center disintegrated violently, sending stars, galaxies and worlds spinning off helplessly into the growing dark. It became bone-chillingly, excruciatingly cold and the hand to which he reached for comfort had vanished. With no anchor, he fell, down, down, down forever and ever into the blackness. His screams went unheard, and the crushing __**silence**__ pressed upon his lungs and his limbs until he could neither breathe nor move, only fall, and fall, and fall…_

Pitch awoke with an alarmed cry. He gripped the sheets in white-knuckled fists as he tried to recover his bearings, gasping in an effort to pull oxygen back into his lungs and calm his spinning head. He shivered; the fire had long since gone out and the freezing air chilled his sweat-drenched skin. Quietly he rose from bed and wrapped himself in a blanket. Shuffling over to the window, he searched for the innumerable stars he had seen in his sleep, and, ever-faithful, there they were. Nights here at the North Pole during the Northern Hemisphere's winter were undeniably magnificent. Countless points of light shone down onto the planet's frozen pole, causing the snow and ice to shimmer like so many diamonds as far as the eye could see. He leaned against the window frame and sighed. It was quickly becoming a comfort to watch them and know that they were shining still, even after what he was coming to recognize—his history—as a dark foray into an enemy camp; a corruption of his purpose, though as yet, still forgotten, from what it must have once been. The hum of activity thrummed to life somewhere off in another part of the workshop and he checked the clock: 7:30. The daylight hours did not necessarily coincide with the time here, so, still a bit sluggish, he rose and went out to look for North.

Even early, the workshop was bustling. The yetis lumbered, griped and called in an atmosphere the very definition of ordered chaos—with some lean more towards chaos. Pitch ducked and darted about, narrowly avoiding being bowled over by the ever-disgruntled yetis and incapacitation from rogue flying toys. North had shown him where his private workshop was, right? Any longer out here and he was almost certain to be trampled! All of a sudden he caught a glimpse of snow-white and red through the crowd.

"_Finally_," he thought and tried to maneuver his way over to North. He caught sight of him again and tried to get his attention. "North!" He called out his name but he did not turn around nor seem to notice him at all. Pitch frowned and attempted to reach him but the moment he had gotten to the place where he thought North had been, he spotted his colors like a scarlet shock through the grey and brown hustling mass of yetis. Pitch followed, always justtoo far behind him to catch his attention. Presently, they came to a more deserted part of the workshop. "_Where are you going, old man_?" thought Pitch. He saw him disappear through an unmarked door at the end of a corridor and followed. "North!" he called, expecting to find him as he pushed open the door, but there was no one there. What he _did _see however was cause enough to make him pause in mild awe. Toys; toys of every color, shape, size, use, (and many others for which he could imagine no logical category) lined, laid, were scattered and stacked, hovered, sat, stood and were even chained down and encased in the lofty room. Twisting stairs led off to the left and right to many other levels all ringed around a gargantuan central column similar to the one in the workshop, but unlike the more utilitarian design of that column, skillfully-carved effigies of children at activities from playing to stargazing, performing music and inventing, and painted in bright festival hues danced up the column to the top where an image reminiscent of North stood with arms open as if in offering. So sufficiently captivated was Pitch that he almost did not hear the large door start to creak closed. Startled, he ran to catch it but missed, and it slammed shut with a BANG! A click and portentous silence followed and he knew that he had been locked in. In experimental hope he tried the handle.

"_Bloody bugger_," he thought when it expectedly didn't budge. Running a hand through his hair, he thought over his options. If he called for help would anyone hear him? Unlikely, seeing as how deserted this part of the workshop was. Could he find something in here to help him get out? A proverbial light bulb switched on over his head and he smiled. He remembered how North had been as a young man; he certainly wouldn't put it past the former ruffian to have invented something useful for scrapes such as this. "_But where to look_?" he thought, scrutinizing the room. This place was huge! It might take him days to find something useful in such a willy-nilly collection. He started to go round the level he was on, scanning the piles and stacks of toys for anything remotely resembling an escape tool. His gaze alighted on something rather unexpected for North's domain. Was that dreamsand?

"Oh, oh, there he goes! North, he's spotted them," said Jack. He leaned his palms against North's desk and grinned mischievously down at the magic snowglobe and the miniature figure of Pitch therein. North leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard in self-satisfaction.

"I knew he would be drawn to those," he said, smiling. "Cannot tell you how long it took me to convince Sandy to help make them last night. If not for what you told us, Jack, might not have made them at all." A knowing look appeared on Jack's face.

"Yeah well, I saw how he watched me fly yesterday. I still can't believe you managed to make them in one night."

"I work fast," North said naturally. "Is good thing, what you said, Jack—gave me idea for today. Now all we must do is watch and wait."

Pitched pushed aside the obstructing objects to reveal what had caught his eye. They were boots: simple black leather that pulled up to the knee. What made them curious was the stream of dreamsand that snaked its way around the shaft to the heel, reminding him, even more curiously, of bottle rockets. The idea came to him then—which, secretly he hoped was true—that these might be flight boots. Sandy used his dreamsand clouds to fly all the time. Why wouldn't North, of all people, try to harness that power? Inquisitive, he pulled them from their place and held them up to see. Yesterday as he'd watched Jack wheeling and flipping about in his work, a feeling had washed over him; not quite a memory but a reminder all the same, it pleasantly reintroduced itself to his consciousness, evoking him of a time when he had loved to fly. The idea thrilled him, and quite suddenly a bizarre sensation snuck up on him and overtook his mind. He knew what he was supposed to be looking for, remembered perfectly well his situation, but it was is if his inner voice had all of a sudden tuned into a child! He wondered more intensely what the boots did; wanted _so_ badly to try them on.

"_Maybe they make you walk through walls_," he thought, trying to rationalize his fascination. (They contained, after all, _dream_sand.) '_Or maybe they make you fly!_' screamed his inner voice, and he winced at his own childishness. But he couldn't _just. Put. Them. __Down!_ Elsewhere, the Guardian of Fun cheered him on and before he could stop himself he had slipped the boots onto his feet. They fit perfectly. Pitch wiggled his toes and looked to his left and his right, listening for the slightest hint that he was not totally alone. Silence. Then the most ridiculous grin he would have ever thought to see on himself spread over his face and he rushed to the railing. Leaning out over the edge, he made the mistake of looking down and his vision swam. The bottom was _very_ far away, and he gulped. There were no nightmares or black sand clouds to keep him from falling here. But he steeled himself and carefully swung first one leg, then the other over the rail.

"Now how do these work?" He remembered the story of Peter Pan, so silly, and yet… "I can fly, I can fly," he began to mutter to himself, and slowly he lifted away from the ledge.

"I can fly, I can—whoa!" He wobbled precariously as he floated away from the railing, supported only by little puffs of dreamsand clouds under his feet. They grew as he continued muttering, until he was able to stand stable in mid-air. Pitch took a moment to look down at himself. He smiled in excitement and with a triumphant yell took off! Up, down and around the column he flew—while a freezing breeze rushed gleefully through the workshop towards him. He soared straight up the column, when without warning he was caught by the collar and yanked upwards and out of the skylight. He grasped at the cold wrist gripping his tunic in panic and screamed up at the frost spirit.

"Jack! What are you doing?! I have to get back to North!" Jack laughed at the look on his face.

"Don't worry! He's coming to you!" he yelled. Then with the jangle of bells, North rose up next to them in the sleigh. He waved cheerfully at Pitch, looking far too satisfied for his own good. In an instant Pitch realized the trick. He looked incredulously from one to the other of his kidnappers, and couldn't help but smirk at their guile. It _was_ clever. He would never have tried those boots on if he hadn't been alone, and now they'd caught him!

"Faster, fly faster!" cried Jack in encouragement until he had to let go of Pitch or be dragged along _by_ him! They dashed ahead of the sleigh and Pitch looked over his shoulder at the North Pole shrinking away behind them. The frigid air he inhaled cooled his brain and made him feel giddy; he couldn't help it, and let out a long, bright whistle which North answered merrily and made Jack laugh. Together they raced and chased each other over the Arctic snow and ice.

"Hey Pitch, watch this!" Jack cried and went lax in mid-air, falling in screaming free-fall past Pitch's shoulder. He yelped and twisted out of the way, barely missing being dragged down with the plummeting frost spirit.

"Missed me!" he yelled, smirking down at him. Jack didn't call back, though, and Pitch's eyes went wide with panic when Jack's staff suddenly flew from his grasp! He spun out of control and Pitch dove for him.

"Help!" cried Jack.

"Hold on!" Pitch yelled, and he reached out to catch him. He just brushed his jacket with his fingertips. He'd almost got a hold of him, when the wind was violently knocked from his lungs by the back seat of North's sleigh!

"Gotcha," said North looking back at him. Pitch clutched at his chest, quite unable to reply. He blinked rapidly, mouth agape and gasping. His heart beat a mile a minute and he could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. Meanwhile, Jack held his sides and doubled over laughing next to him.

"You—you should have seen your face! Your eyes were huge!" He snorted and fell against Pitch's side.

"Bugger off!" said Pitch, shoving him away. "Serves you right, you still lost your staff," he said, crossing his arms with a scowl. Jack smiled sweetly.

"Oh! You mean _my_ staff?" Why, I haven't lost it at all!" Then he pulled on a thin cord hanging over the side of the sleigh. One end was tied to his wrist and the other was tied to his staff. Pitch made a disgusted sound and turned his back on the insolent frost spirit. "Aw, it's okay," Jack said, patting his shoulder, "it's good to know you care." Pitch glared over his shoulder and swatted the hand away.

"Next time, I'll let you fall," he warned.

"'Kay, I'll look forward to it." Pitch groaned.

"Hang on, you two. Time to go!" shouted North, raising the reins to spur the reindeer forward.

"Wait! What? Enough secrets, North, tell me what we're doing!" Pitch demanded.

"You'll see," he said and chucked a snowglobe far out in front of the sleigh where it burst into a whirling vortex. Then with a sickening lurch, they rushed forward into the portal. The sudden blackness indicated they were on the night side of the earth now. Cities sprawled in twinkling grids far below them. Pitch held his spinning head as they emerged.

"How do you not get sick every time you do that?" he questioned. Jack shrugged.

"You just kind of get used to it." He leaned over the side of the sleigh and tried to find something he recognized. "Where do you think we are, anyway?"

"We're not there yet," said North, "but now I feel I should tell you, you really must buckle up." Then with an ominous beep, restraint belts ejected from the seats, seizing Jack around his middle and pulling him down with a yelp. North cracked the reins and called out to his team who began to climb steeply, faster every moment, angling the sleigh back so that they were nearly looking straight up. Pitch felt Jack's fear and turned to look at him.

"I thought you _liked_ this sort of thing!" he shouted over the wind now gusting in their faces.

"Before, 'buckle up' was just an expression!" Jack cried and held onto his staff for dear life. That did not bode well. Higher and higher they climbed and then Pitch heard the 'click' of leads releasing and felt the terrifying beginnings of free-fall. North had let the reindeer loose! For one surreal second as they fell, the world quieted; the wind died down, Jack ceased screaming, and then he heard North yell in slow-motion,

"Blast off!" Rockets lowered into place beneath them and they hurtled skywards, flying impossibly faster, impossibly higher! Pitch could no longer hear Jack beside him, probably because, like him, his lungs were too compressed to allow it. He felt as if he were being forced _through_ the back of the sleigh!

And then abruptly, everything stopped. They breached the highest level of the atmosphere and it all became eerily calm. North adjusted his hat and checked the instruments on his dash. His eyes glittered in triumph. They had done it! Personally, he couldn't understand why people took spaceflight so seriously. Was piece of pie! He calmly released the restraints and swiveled around his chair to face his passengers. He couldn't help but raise a brow at the sight. Jack clutched his staff against his chest in a death-grip and the crook of it shook from his trembling. Pitch had braced himself so low in the seat he looked as if he were trying to become one with the wood and his fingers were white from gripping the handrail. North chuckled in mild amusement and leaned over to snap his fingers close to their ears.

"Calm down, you two, you survived." They blinked rapidly as they snapped out of shock. Jack huffed out a long, pent-up breath and tried to stand, unsuccessfully falling back on shaky legs.

"Y-you made the sleigh into a rocket?!" he exclaimed. North grinned.

"Surprised? I made improvements since last Christmas."

"Y—yeah, I'd say you did," said Jack, nodding in emphatic agreement. "Wait, how are we breathing?!"

"Force-field."

"Oh." Pitch, who had hereunto said nothing, quietly rose and shuffled over to Jack's side of the space-sleigh. He sat down cross-legged in front of the open door and stared silently out at the stars. You will have probably played a game at one point in your life where you have tried to count them, but truly, they are innumerable. Hardly a speck of blackness is left empty outside of the atmosphere, away from illusory smog and weather that steal some of the light from celestial bodies. Sitting in orbit over our small world, one will achieve the feeling of smallness, insignificance so humbling that it leads to, if nothing else profound, awe and wonder of the most sobering degree. Yet, space is not so solemn as to be unfriendly; the stars can be quite pleasant to some, and they were to Pitch. They looked so close he thought he could touch them, and he half-expected them to start singing; as familiar as he felt to them from his dreams, he thought they might feel more inclined to allow him such privy access to their ageless society. They kept silent, however, and an inexplicable longing filled him. He flinched when he felt North's hand on his shoulder.

"Pitch," North sounded concerned, "are you alright?" Pitch looked up at him and realized that his vision had gone blurry.

"Oh, yes," he said proudly, quickly blinking away the tears, "I'm fine, thanks." Jack sat down next to him. He regarded him knowingly and asked,

"So, what does this remind you of?" Pitch felt his shoulders become heavy with sadness.

"This is what my dreams look like, Jack," he replied, "before…"

"They go dark."

"Yes." A melancholy silence settled over the three, North included. He already knew of Pitch's memory-dreams, and thought it wise to direct the subject in a less dismal direction. Memories were never easy to recall when they were painful, North knew.

"Do you see anything you recognize?" he asked.

"You know?!" Pitch turned to him in embarrassed alarm then gave a very hairy eyeball to the cringing frost spirit beside him.

"I asked him for a report of your day yesterday. You understand, Pitch, that we want to keep an eye on you. Besides, getting your memories lends some extra purpose to what you are doing here with us, no?" It was true, and Pitch relaxed his frown and turned back to the view.

"Yes," he acquiesced, "but, will you really help me?" he asked, turning to face North. His gaze spoke skepticism, but his voice bled hope.

"If your memories are as bright and wonderful as all this," North said, sweeping an arm across the starry expanse, "then I can't wait to see who you turn out to be." Pitch gave him a small but appreciative smile.

"Thank you," he said, and he truly was. He was almost as grateful that it was also a new moon. Without the imposing orb hanging over his head, he could admire the stars and not fear that Manny would race over on one of his gigantic lunar moths and swipe it clean off! Jack, being Jack, though, had to ask.

"Hey, North. Do you think with this thing we could go see Manny?" he asked hopefully. North saw the look on Pitch's face and mentally agreed with what he was thinking. Perhaps a visit to Manny with the present company was not prudent, just yet.

"Sorry, Jack. It does not have enough fuel to get there and back. I still have to make adjustments. Another time, maybe." Jack slumped in disappointment.

Pitch fell into meditative silence as they sat. His gaze rested casually on the Cygnus cross and he watched it disappear slowly in the west as the earth turned towards the sun. Low-orbiting satellites only take about an hour and a half to make a complete circuit around the globe, and soon, they were facing the sunrise over the Asian continent. The descent back to earth they found only a little less traumatic than the climb, and when they finally touched down back at the North Pole, North's hapless passengers gladly followed him inside for hot chocolate and brainstorming time together in his workshop. Pitch, to their delighted surprise, was quite the mastermind when it came to new inventions, demonstrating a previously unseen flair for creativity that was not unlike North. By the end of the day they had created several new prototypes which he paused to inspect one last time before they went off to bed. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he turned and left the room.

"So, what did you learn today?" North asked as he locked the door. Pitch smirked.

"Really? Am I to be examined at the end of _every_ day, Teacher?"

"Yes, you are. Tell me, what do you know now that you didn't twenty-four hours ago?" Pitch rolled his eyes and pursed his lips in thought.

"Wonder," he began, staring at the wall, "is not bad."

"Good, obviously, and what else? How do you know that?"

"You couldn't have tricked me so easily if I hadn't thought these boots were so 'wonderful?'

"Pitch."

"You make me _wonder_ how Manny ever allowed you to drive any vehicle?" Pitch waited for the sarcastic response, but to his slight horror North looked guiltily away. "What did you _do_?" he asked, eyes wide. North gave him a look that explained enough and Pitch made a mental note to pry the story out of him later.

"Wonder," he said changing the subject, "humbles us, allows us to be amazed by what we see around us, and be changed by it. We learn about the world and about ourselves," he pointed at Pitch, "as you yourself have begun to discover. Let your eyes be full of wonder, Pitch," he said, "and you may find you see more than you ever did before." Pitch nodded slowly and looked down at his feet, finally noticing that he was still wearing the flight boots.

"These are yours," he said, and bent down to remove them.

"_Hmm, we'll see_," thought North as he took them.

Pitch dreamt of stars again that night and this time flung himself whole-heartedly into the dance for as long as it lasted. He couldn't say for sure when he woke, but he swore that the stars had shone brighter, and that their song, gloriously exultant, was for him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Dear Readers, **Hello again at last! I told you I would open up the chapters from now on, and here I am!

In the previous chapter, Pitch began to see what Wonder could show him. Now, what will he learn on his day with Toothiana? Can the past be forgotten, and then, should it be?

"There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind."

-C.S. Lewis

Tooth knew teeth. As with her colleagues, her subject of expertise, like chocolate eggs and toys, held an almost obsessive fascination for her. Had she been human she might have been known as the foremost authority in orthodontics in the world. But Tooth was (technically) not human, and certainly more than an expert. Beyond the physical state of the teeth, Toothiana possessed a familiarity with what the human soul stored away inside them: memories, more specifically, the pure memories of childhood. It was these which were the most important to a person, for children see the world in a more innocent, perfect light, allowing them to learn its lessons better than the average adult. Children do not stay children, sadly; they grow up and turn into unhappy, _disillusioned_ adults and for them the world loses its magic. Life, rather than an adventure, is a dreary struggle to survive. When this happens—it is a rare miracle or a tragedy if it does not—it is the duty of Tooth and her fairies to return childhood memories to the world's gloomy grown-ups, to remind them of a time when they were small, and troubles, as long as you had a hand to hold onto through them, were not so scary.

Tooth loved Teeth for this special quality, but the one she happened to hold in her hand at that moment she regarded with utmost disdain. Blackened and rotten, she wanted to fling it off the side of her mountain. It was an adult tooth, besides, and valueless to her. But Tooth was the Tooth Fairy, and she kept teeth, even if they did belong to Pitch Black. A small swarm of mini-fairies, including Baby-Tooth, flitted anxiously around her head as she stared at the bicuspid. They twittered uneasily and she shushed them.

"I know, girls, I'm sorry. I don't like him being here either," she said. Tooth frowned and thought momentarily back to why she had ever agreed to have Pitch at the Tooth Palace in the first place. North and Jack, it seemed, under an absurd pretense had faith in him.

"_He's changing_," they'd said. "_He has potential_," they'd told her, but Tooth remained skeptical. Beings of Darkness couldn't have memories of existing in any kind of light (even starlight is harmful to them; they once roamed the galaxies in dark, roiling hordes for protection and in great numbers were a dreaded danger to all kinds of spacecraft); they had no reason to, but they did have plenty of reason to lie, and Pitch Black most of all. Her frown deepened and Baby Tooth chirped in concern.

"Don't worry," said Tooth, "just keep working. If he tries anything," a rare scowl darkened her features and she fluttered her wings in aggression, "leave him to me."

(At the North Pole)

"Are you nervous?"

"Should I be?"

"I dunno. What do you think?"

"Probably."

"Good answer." Jack glanced sideways at Pitch as they walked to the globe room. He was tenser than yesterday, shoulders held rigidly back and hands clenched at his sides. For their own respective reasons, spending days with Jack and North had been relatively comfortable prospects. With Jack he had common ground and North had become his outspoken and undeserved advocate before the other guardians. But today he'd be forced beyond that small circle of security, and seeing as how his last visit to the Tooth Palace had been when he was capturing all Tooth's precious fairies, he was naturally not looking forward to it.

"_At the very least_," he thought, "_Tooth won't want a bloody mess to clean up_." That was far more than he could say with certainty for tomorrow's warden. North was standing by the globe control console as they entered, a portal already standing open to the Tooth Palace. He met Pitch's eyes meaningfully as he and Jack came forward.

"Are you ready?" he asked. Pitch faced the portal blankly.

"I suppose I have to be, now," he said. North caught his trepidation and ventured to place a large hand firmly upon Pitch's shoulder.

"You are," he said. "Now, mind yourself, and good luck!" Then he and Jack were shooed through the portal. They landed dizzily on one of the higher platforms in the Tooth Palace. Having been unnoticed yet by most of the fairies working at the lower levels, for a brief moment Pitch was able to appreciate the view. Gold and jewel-toned spires spun towards the hollowed-out peak of the mountain and the distant sky above. Sunlight filtered cheerily in through natural, overgrown skylights, punctuated every so often by the iridescent flitting of fairies coming and going through the palace. Like in the workshop, activity hummed constantly here, too, but it was more like a buzz than a thrum, and it was getting closer. Then, like a living jewel, Queen Toothiana of the Tooth Fairy Armies rose up before them, surrounded by several of the lesser flying gems that were her fairies. Her gaze was regal, dignified, fortified and closed, and she deliberately noticed Jack first.

"Good morning, Jack," she greeted him, smiling her absolute brightest. "How are you? Are you flossing like I told you?" As he turned to her, Jack gave a conspiratorially waggish wink to Pitch and flashed his famous pearly-whites.

"Oh, I'm fine, thanks, Tooth. Good morning to you, too. About the flossing, though; I'm not sure if I'm doing it right. Could you look and tell me?" He pulled his lips back as far as his muscles would allow and arched a brow in a manner most reminiscent of _007_. Two fairies promptly fainted conveniently into their blushing queen's hands and the rest wavered threateningly. Pitch conscientiously arched a brow and suppressed his smirk. Who knew that the youngest guardian already had such a fan following? Unfortunately, it was at that moment Toothiana finally decided to notice him. Her smile vanished as if it had never been. All good humor fled her eyes, as it would yours when a pleasant morning has been rudely and utterly spoilt by something nasty, like an unexpected call from the office. She looked him up and down critically like a rotten tooth and he lowered his eyes in preparation for the oncoming onslaught of scorn, but to his surprise, it never came. She turned abruptly back to Jack and her expression instantly became friendly again, leaving Pitch stunned from the transfiguration.

"So, Jack, will you stay awhile?" Her tone was pleasant and slightly desperate.

"Ah, I'm sorry, Tooth," he said, smiling like he hadn't noticed, "I've got a few things to do up in Canada, but I'll be back later. I promise." Then with a bound and a flick of his staff he was in the air.

"Bye, guys! Have _fun_!" they heard him say before he disappeared, leaving behind dead silence in his wake; this time, the true calm before the storm. Tooth turned on him with a scowl and as one her fairies darted towards him, forcing him back against the pillar behind.

"Listen you," she said, swooping in close to his face. "The only reason you're not missing _all _your teeth right now is because of Jack and North. I trust _them_, but if you even _think_ about doing anything to my fairies, to me, or to this palace, you will go back to the North Pole today," she flashed her too-white K-9's at him, "but all of your _teeth_ will not. Understood?" Pitch nodded vigorously, pinned to the pillar as he was. He thought about how he might like to try one of North's cookies one day, and kept his mouth shut.

"Good," she said, smiling to make him cringe. "Now, follow me. I won't lose another minute of a full day's work out of you," and she began to hover away.

"Actually," he began to say, and raised his arm to stop her. Tooth turned, arching a brow dangerously at him, and he hastily lowered it.

"I, ahem, I mean no offense, but, ah…"

"Oh, I know you don't," she said beating her wings so that they sounded like a slow-running saw. "Spit it out, then." Pitch balked and sputtered,

"Do you have any stairs?" Tooth rolled her eyes and huffed in frustration (for what she imagined would not be the last time today).

"Why don't you just use the shadows?" He couldn't use them to escape the palace anyway; North had cast the spells last night that kept darkling magic in (and out). "Don't tell me you're afraid of the dark now." He made a noncommittal sound and looked away. Tooth blinked and shook her head.

"There are stairs on the other side of this column," she said, pointing. "Go straight up and follow me." Sometime later, he found himself deeply regretting his own blasted cowardice. Panting, and legs aching from trying to keep up with Tooth, much of his humility had long since been washed away by the much more insistent desire for a fly swatter.

"_Why did 'straight up' have to be literal?_" he thought ruefully. The "stairs" were in reality no more than an endless, spindly ladder on which he was forced to take two or three rungs at a time in order to keep up with his apathetic guide. All the while he was hounded by her mini-fairies who, wary at first, grew in confidence as they went along and littered his head and back with sharp little pecks every time he tripped or slowed down.

"Ow! Ow! Okay, alright, I'm up!" he exclaimed, shielding his stinging scalp when they finally reached the top. He rushed to catch up with Tooth. "Is the abuse really necessary?" he asked, turning around to scowl at the hovering fairies.

"I don't know, was it?" she asked flatly. Pitch frowned and bit down on the sharp reply he wanted to spit back at her, but the suddenly precious sensation of his teeth grinding together between his jaws, in place of his vanished humility, kept it from leaving his tongue. It would not do to tempt her to fulfill her earlier promises. She brusquely led him along a too-delicate-looking catwalk to a bald-topped tower near the top of the palace complex. Large burlap sacks covered the wide platform that ringed the tower, on which were stamped currency symbols from who knew how many factions and alliances of humanity. He recognized many but not all.

"_There must be coins here from every country in the world_," he thought, and a hint of the old jealousy for the Guardians resurfaced then. They were loved and he was not…

"_As they __**ought**__to be_," he chastised himself with a grimace. He would _never_ hear such screams again…

"Welcome to the Coin Repository," said Tooth, chasing his dark thoughts away. "This is where all the coins we place under children's pillows are sorted. Below us are dispensers where my fairies get them, but to keep the system efficient, this tower must always be full. All the sugary Christmas treats that come with North's holiday have depleted it recently, though," she said dolefully, "so your job today will be to sort and fill all the chutes." The tiny balloon of hope Pitch had secretly harbored about these days with each of the guardians deflated a little. Slave labor didn't quite strike him as 'learning what he do,' as North had said, but again, Tooth was not North. She had no reason to be nice on their first day. She beckoned him to the side of the tower's flat top and pushed a button on the side. Gears whirred to life and its bronzy cap began to fold together like a fan, revealing gaping shafts, big enough for him to fall into, with currency symbols etched into their rims. Coupled with the ever-present buzz of the palace in his ear, it reminded Pitch unpleasantly of a wasp's nest, and the feeling of unease in his gut was not dissimilar to what one does feel upon noticing a rather large one in the tree in the backyard.

Tooth folded her arms and lifted her chin up so that she was looking down at him through her long, feathery lashes.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Neither of us have got all day. Get going!" Pitch scowled and muttered bitterly as he turned around and started through the waist-high sacks of coins. He'd made it halfway around the tower before he spotted the right one, but when he tried to lift it, well, it was impossible! He wrapped his arms around it—or as far as they would go—and tried to heft the bag off the ground, nearly dislocating both of his shoulders at once! He frowned down at the boulder-like thing. It surely weighed twice as much he did! He stole a glance over his shoulder at Tooth, impatiently staring at him. This was humiliating enough without his having to demonstrate what a weakling he was! Determined, he squared his shoulders, took a breath, and tried to lift the bag again. He actually seemed to be making progress, moving it about an inch, when the air he'd been holding in his lungs escaped and with a grunt he dropped the sack again. He leaned over it, gasping, then stood and turned around to face Toothiana.

"Alright, you've made your point! I'm a scraw, I admit it!" he said, throwing his thin arms out as if to reveal the evidence of his being so. "Will you please help me?!" Tooth crossed her arms and frowned mightily at him as did all her fairies. _Kidnappers didn't get help._ Pitch struggled to maintain his temper. Perhaps if he _appealed_ to her dislike of him?

"If you help me, the faster this will get done, and the faster you can have me out of your hair, er, feathers," he said. She seemed to falter for just a moment, weighing the satisfaction of revenge against sweet riddance. The latter apparently won out, for with a roll of her eyes she dropped her posture and hovered down to his side. She immediately took hold of the corners of the bag and peered over her shoulder at him.

"Well, c'mon. I'll take one half if you take the other." Pitch nodded and knelt, grabbing the other corners of the bag.

"On the count of three: one, two, three!" They grunted from the effort as the extraordinarily heavy bag slowly began to rise from the ground. Half a boulder's burden seemed to be manageable for the both of them, however, and secretly Pitch couldn't help but be impressed by the Fairy Queen. For one so small, she was stronger than she looked. Tediously, they struggled together, until with a great gasp and heave they had perched the sack atop its chute. One of Tooth's mini-fairies, who had heretofore been fluttering fretfully off to the side, made a slit in the bag with her razor-like wings—similar to her queen's—and, slowly at first, there came the satisfying _Plink, Plink_ sound of metal coins falling atop one another. Then swiftly it became a torrent, and finally Pitch was able to throw the bag down with a triumphant smirk. As he turned back to face Toothiana, their eyes locked, and an instant of mutual realization passed between them.

_So this was how it was going to be? _Their problems would pass more quickly if they worked together than if they griped at each other apart. Tooth cocked her head in her peculiarly perceptive, bird-like manner and considered him a moment. Then she nodded once, as if in confirmation of their circumstance and without another word zipped past his shoulder to retrieve another bag. After such a moment the two or more people involved will have lost the need for much further discussion of the subject over which they previously quarreled. That is not to say, of course, that Toothiana had instantly learned to trust Pitch; rather, that they had both acknowledged they had better things to do with each other than to bicker over grudges. Tooth knew from painful experience that memories, however sour, were to be learned from if one was to have any hope of moving forward peacefully through life. If not, they would hunt you down; find you at the worst possible moment and pounce, not only on you but on everyone around you, often with heartbreaking consequences.

After that, the work passed relatively quickly. By noon a little over half the sacks of coins had been cleared away and Pitch had worked up the boldness to be cordial with Toothiana.

"I think you'll forgive me for sounding lazy," he said as he dragged a smaller sack (its size was more comparable to a cauldron than a boulder) across the tiled platform. "These things are _outrageously _heavy!" He punctuated the adjective with a laborious tug of the bag onto the lip of its chute. "How in the world do you manage them all on your own?" Tooth slumped over a bag and ruffled her feathers in an attempt to dispel the heat produced from her exertions.

She said, "I normally borrow a few yetis from North. They can lift two of them at once and get the job done in less than a few hours." She looked exhaustedly around at all they had left to do. "Not so with us, I'm afraid." Pitch straightened and threw the now-empty bag on the growing pile. Stretching his arms high above his head, he made himself appear, in Tooth's private opinion, rather like a stick bug, and sat down next to her on the ground. Even slouched against the bag she laid over, he was still a good several inches taller than her.

"Perhaps we might be able to work faster if we took a bit of a break?" he said, half-stating, half-asking permission.

"Perfectly fine by me, and now that we do," she sat up and leaned on her elbows so that she could look down on him from her perch, a makeshift judge's bench, "how about those memories of yours?" Pitch groaned and turned away.

"You, too, then?"

"Naturally," she replied. "I am, after all, the Guardian of_ Memories_, and you may as well assume that everyone else knows about them by this point, too." Pitch pursed his lips and sighed.

"They're just glimpses, nothing that screams 'hero!' if that's what you were hoping for."

"I wasn't _hoping_ for anything at all, actually. That's Bunny's department, and I have to say that even he is skeptical about it all," said Tooth. "You only see these 'glimpses' in your dreams, right?"

"Yes, and I know what you're thinking: 'That's all they are, just dreams." He paused and looked down at his feet. "—or lies, more likely." Tooth rested her chin on her hand and arched a brow just slightly. Tapping her fingers against her bag, she asked,

"And are they?" Pitch turned to look up at her, his expression strange and unreadable. He stood up and began to pace.

"I know it doesn't make sense," he said. "I was the Nightmare King, Master of Fear and the Dark, la-dee-da, but that's the _point_! You will allow, of course, that I _shouldn't _have these memories, yet I have them, and I want. To know. _Why_!" He shouted the last and balled his hands into fists, as if to angrily seize hold of the answer being kept so tantalizingly out of his reach. Toothiana tensed at his sudden outburst. She'd seen before what happened when his anger flared like this. The consequences were never pretty, but now his anger was cooling, replaced by something she could not recall or expect to ever see on Pitch's face: hope.

"Because if they are more than just dreams," he said, his eyes growing distant, "if they are anything to go by, then they can only mean that at one time I wasn't just—_this_." He said, his voice dripping with disgust. "And, then that means—," he paused and met her eyes as if to convey his entire reasoning in a single, half-crazed glance, "it means that I am not really f—nngh!" Pitch suddenly held his head and grimaced. He swayed on his feet and Toothiana rose and flew to him in concern.

"Pitch, are you alright? What's wrong?" She placed a hand on his shoulder to try and steady him, but he fell to his knees with a pained groan.

_Rip. Tear. Shred his soul and eat his heart! No more, no more, no more of you. Only __**US**__. You belong to __**US. **__You are US and we devour you! No escape! No escape! No escape! _

Pitch's mind was filled with an intense shrieking that made him wince and bow his head to the ground. He couldn't respond to Toothiana because he couldn't hear her. His vision had gone white, but then as quickly as it came over him, the feeling disappeared. He shook his head as his mind cleared and Tooth's concerned face came into focus. Tooth hovered awkwardly, unsure of what to do with the suddenly half-catatonic Boogeyman.

"Pitch? Pitch! What's wrong? Talk to me!" Pitch blinked at her.

"Augh… Sorry. I'm alright. Just—just give me a half a minute," he said and shakily pulled himself to his feet, leaning heavily on a coin bag for support.

"Does this happen normally?" Tooth asked.

"No, not usually…not while I'm awake," he said and swallowed the sickly cold feeling that spread from his chest at the memory of some of his more violent nightmares.

"Do you need to rest a while longer?" she asked. Pitch shook his head.

"No, we really should get back to work. I—I'll be fine…c'mon," he said and he began to shuffle off to get another bag. Tooth frowned at how unsteadily he walked, but followed along. She, too, had been known to bury her troubles in her work and could hardly accuse him now of error. Slower than before, the work continued, until a sudden crash and startled chirping were heard below them. The immediate drop in temperature alerted them to who had decided to come back for a visit. Tooth smoothed out her puffed-up feathers and grinned.

"Oh, Jack. What have you done, now? Sorry, Pitch. I'll be back in a second. Keep an eye on him girls," she said and dove off the platform to greet her guest. Her fairies complied by immediately roosting on his shoulders and in his hair, to which he sighed and continued his work.

As Toothiana dropped to the lower levels of her palace she was met with a strikingly odd scene. Snowflakes and icicles coated every surface of the immediate vicinity, including some rather irate and frosted fairies. Tooth boxes lay out, left there by Tooth's startled helpers, and in the midst of all this, laughing like a schoolboy, stood Jack Frost. He spun his staff as he turned to look at her.

"Hi-ya, Tooth. Sorry about the mess. I just couldn't resist," he said with a toothy grin. Tooth sighed and shook her head, trying not to smile.

"Jack, how many times have I told you not to make it snow here?" she asked, her hands on her hips in a most motherly pose.

"About a million times," he replied, "and I'd make it snow here a million more times just to hear you say my name," he said with a wink. This appeased Tooth's fairies whose frowns turned to blushes and embarrassed cooing, while Tooth smirked and gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

"Ha-ha, Lover Boy. Write me a sonnet, will you, while you clean up the mess you've made." Jack laughed and turned to unfreeze the nearest icicle.

"So, what do you think of him?" he asked as the ice melted into a cold puddle at his feet. Tooth let out a breath and clasped her hands together.

"I'll admit that there's…_something_ there," she said.

"Something?!" Jack cried. "More like a completely different person! He's not acting like his old self at all!" he exclaimed.

"I'd say _conflicted_ would be a better way to describe him," she said, correcting him. "He seems more like he's 'sorting himself out,' in a way."

"But did you get him to talk about his memories?" Jack's voice betrayed his hope.

"Sorry, Jack," Tooth said, shaking her head. "I don't have any baby teeth of his to read. He's older than all of us, even Manny, but there is something else concerning his memories that I think you should know about."

"What, did he tell you something new?" he asked, his interest acutely piqued.

"Not exactly, no. Rather, he had an 'episode' earlier. He was talking about his memories, and then right as he was getting to the point of what he was trying to say, he collapsed."

"He collapsed?!"

"It was like he wasn't able to finish his sentence."

"What was he trying to say?"

"Something about his not really being fear, I think," said Tooth, her tone carrying just a hint of skepticism. "We should tell North and the others about it, later." Jack nodded, his brows knitting together in thought, and perhaps even a little in worry, then his expression cleared and he looked up at Tooth again.

"So, how has he been the rest of the time?" he asked.

"Perfectly harmless," Tooth replied, "more cooperative than I expected, actually."

"I see you trust him by himself," he remarked, looking up towards the coin repository tower.

"No. I just trust my girls to peck his eyes out if he tries anything," she said with a chuckle, "and speaking of which…" Tooth did not get to say any more about the subject, for without warning a sudden cry of "HELP!" came from the repository tower. With a glance Tooth and Jack launched upwards. Rising to the tower's top, Tooth was swarmed by her mini-fairies, chirping frantically all at once. She did not even stop to acknowledge them, but in a blur of color was suddenly by the tower's flat top. She reached into one of the chutes where, to Jack's bemusement, a pair of black, stockinged feet stuck out over the rim.

"HELP!" came the cry again, obviously from Pitch though it was muffled and tinny from his being stuck down the chute. Tooth and Jack each grabbed hold of his legs and began to pull him out. As his arm appeared, he reached up to grasp the edge of the chute and he pushed himself back onto the platform, clasping his chest.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!" Tooth demanded, nearly causing him to fall back into the hole. Then like a mother tiger, she tore open the fist he held against his chest to reveal Baby Tooth, frightened and clinging tight to a coin, but unharmed.

"She fell into the chute," he blurted out, unprepared for her harshness. "I was trying to catch her." Tooth cupped her little fairy in her hands and cooed comfortingly as she examined her for any injury. Not even one of her feathers was crushed but Tooth held her close as she eyed Pitch cautiously and backed away.

"_You _caught her?" Tooth asked, astonished.

"Yes," Pitch replied meeting her eyes with as much caution as she showed him. He tried also with his gaze to convey earnestness; if Tooth would believe that he had not meant to harm her fairy she might not keep her promise and send him back to the North Pole with a mouth full of holes. Without a word Tooth shoved Jack towards Pitch; a silent order to keep an eye on him. Then she turned away and the strangest conversation Jack thought he had ever heard—Pitch, over his many years, had heard stranger—occurred between Fairy Queen and subject. A series of musical tweets and trills almost too fast to catch poured forth between the two. Baby Tooth's higher chirps floated atop Tooth's lower, fluty notes like a birdy duet, and though Jack could understand none of it, the way the song dipped so often into grave flats and minor tones told him that Tooth was not happy in the slightest. All of a sudden, Tooth gave out an emphatic, swirling trill that seemed to spin about itself in disbelief. Her feathers puffed up and her expression turned to one of flabbergasted surprise. She turned part of the way around to Jack and Pitch, brows knit and her posture tense.

"Jack, you can take Pitch back to the North Pole, now. He's done enough for today." Jack silently took Pitch's arm and opened a portal. Before they stepped through, the command to wait from Toothiana made Pitch stop stiffly and look back to the Fairy Queen. Their eyes met and for the second time something, more reluctantly it seemed this time, passed between them.

"Thank you," said Tooth, to which Pitch responded with a chivalrous little bow. As he turned away, both of their expressions softened just so, and Tooth was left to look after them, mystified, as Jack and Pitch disappeared through the portal.


End file.
